


Relationship Labels Need Not Apply

by aquila_black



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Kylo has Rey on his mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:09:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6054499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquila_black/pseuds/aquila_black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like most customized protocols on Starkiller Base (of which there were quite a few) the thing between Phasma and Kylo Ren was designed from the ground up and didn't quite ... conform to the shape of anything else, anywhere else. This bothered neither of them. </p><p>[This is a fill for The Force Awakens kink meme that a kind anon asked me to put up on AO3 so they can bookmark it. Lightly paraphrased, my prompt was "Kylo/Phasma: working out in the gym and blowing off steam by having orgasms."]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relationship Labels Need Not Apply

Phasma had known Kylo since he was a lanky fifteen year old. He'd turned up one day with an absurdly high security clearance, that _checked_ , and orders from Snoke. And stayed as if he had nowhere else to go. His eyes had a way of making most people uncomfortable until he started wearing that mask. But Phasma realized that Kylo would work himself down to nothing, without even noticing that's what he was doing, if someone didn't intercede. His single-minded dedication to his training was commendable. And downright fanatical. Which is why she'd made a point of telling him, right near the beginning, that everyone gets homesick. 

Kylo had glowered at her suspiciously, as if he thought she were bringing this up because, contrary to what she'd just said, there was something specifically wrong with him; some weakness he'd done an inadequate job guarding. 

“Look,” Phasma had added, “I don't know where you come from, and I will never ask you about it. You're one of us now. The First Order will make you bigger and stronger than you ever imagined yourself being. But there are people who try to take the edge off their stress by giving the new kids more to worry about. Setting up countless, meaningless tests that they insist are 'proof' of whether you're good enough to be here. It's bullshit.” She took a breath. “People come from all over, from all kinds of pasts, and adjusting is it's own special kind of hard. So having doubts and bad days and not knowing how you're going to breathe with this pain in your chest – we've all done it. None of that means you're making a mistake. It's just, breaking away from what used to be your life can get to you.”

Kylo considered this, the sudden intensity in his eyes belying his attempt at a neutral expression. Phasma knew she'd hit a nerve when he asked, “even if you basically never want to see your old life again?”

She nodded. “It's not wrong to miss what you never thought you'd miss. And the less you're fighting and second-guessing yourself, the better you'll cope with a program that (frankly) demands a lot, from all of us.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Kylo's hand shot out and grabbed her arm. “I don't _need_ your _help_ ,” he growled.

“Kylo, I'm a soldier.” Phasma responded, unfazed. “The point of sharing intel is that our chances of defeating our _actual_ enemies improve if we help each other. And I do mean we – there will be times when you know things I need to hear. So I want a working relationship where communication isn't awkward.”

“That's …” he released her and looked down, chewing his lower lip. (Phasma thought he looked embarrassed, because her offer was genuine and he'd obviously been expecting something else. Disrespect? Pity? Something that would have justified his anger.) But Kylo shook off his momentary indecision. “I need a sparring partner,” he said, “who isn't scared of me.” 

Phasma's lip twitched, because the sly, underlying challenge in his voice was perfectly audible. Even so, she could work with this. “I'm not force-sensitive at all,” she warned, “but if you want to practice hand-to-hand fighting, meet me at the training facility at 0600 hours.”

She'd had no idea how badly he just needed to roughhouse. And punch things. And get flipped against the mat for the umpteenth time because his footwork was outstanding, but his balance was crap. But it became a regular thing they did. 

They both had separate exercise routines that they adjusted to make room for their sparring. Phasma resorted to free weights only, after accidentally breaking one of the bigger machines. As Kylo became more adept at manipulating the force, he did increasingly more complicated things beforehand to exhaust his powers. Phasma could still remember the first time he'd extended a hand silently at her dumbbells and levitated them, eyes like slits, sweat beading at his forehead. 

“You know, you have the muscles for a weight routine,” she'd said. “Would you like to try them?”

“No,” he'd said, with an edge of finality in his voice. The weight settled back down on its y-rest with a _clank_. 

Phasma hadn't pushed it. She knew Kylo wasn't intentionally being off putting, but he'd retained the habit of rejecting unwanted suggestions as forcefully as if the other person were trying to arm twist him into compliance; as if a more casual 'no' would be swept aside.

Their sparring always started the same way. Whichever one of them finished their workout first would strip down to their under-layers, stalk out to the middle of the biggest mat, cross their arms in an attitude of challenge, and wait. Phasma could do this while standing absolutely still, pale hair sticking to her temples where her helmet had been the closest. Kylo could rarely keep himself from pacing like a caged animal. 

Most days, the other one would announce their approach with a yell and at a flat-out run. 

Phasma widened her stance as Kylo charged her. She aimed a disciplined series of hits at his head, his ribs, his kidneys, and his spine, as she twisted around him. Roughly half of them landed solidly before he managed to sweep her feet out from under her. She adapted in mid air to bring him down with her and mostly rolled out of the way of his fall. He was on her in an instant as she curled on all fours, but thanks to a hand he was using to balance himself, unwisely placed within her reach, she managed to flip him again, this time headfirst, and vaulted over him crosswise in a half-mount. 

Kylo growled and shot his hands deep into the collar of her shirt, fingers meeting at the back of her neck. It was the _worst_ angle she'd ever seen for an x-choke, but she knew he was strong enough to leverage it anyway, so she tucked her chin and shot one of her hands next to her jaw to protect her neck during the counter. 

They moved in a flurry of hands, feet, angles, rolling and twisting and grappling. Neither kept particular track of who tapped out when. The first round was broken off at a complex wrist-elbow-shoulder lock that would have stressed a recent injury. The next went on for several minutes, before resolving into a headlock. The one after that resulted in a brief time-out, because it involved Kylo bypassing Phasma's guard with a move that basically amounted to his doing a pivoting handstand on the center of her chest. (She was unhurt, but after escaping from a trash compactor, the physical sensation of having her lungs compressed was ... disconcerting.) 

They sat on their haunches and the balls of their feet, at arm's reach away from each other on the mat, panting, radiating heat, and dripping sweat. 

Phasma took out her mouth guard and swallowed a couple of times with difficulty, willing herself to breathe normally again. Kylo let himself fall on his back, arms carelessly outstretched to let the mat absorb as much excess heat as possible. Then Phasma shoved the device back in without a word and stood up, thinking to practice their more usual upright attacks. Kylo pulled himself to his feet and let loose a vicious barrage of kicks and strikes that she deflected, but he seemed distracted. 

She had just enough time to process this thought before he dropped his protective stance entirely and slurred, “I haugh a pro'lem.” Pulling a disgusted face and all but spitting his mouth-guard out, he over-enunciated “that was supposed to be I _have_ a _problem_.” 

Phasma let her arms go down to her sides and mirrored him, adopting a less combat-ready posture. “Oh?” she said. As he didn't explain, she ran her eyes up and down his body, taking in the bulge in his pants and the slightly pained look on his face and put two and two together. 

She crossed the distance between them in two strides and put a hand up to Kylo's face, and that was all the encouragement he needed to grab the back of her head and crush his mouth against hers, kissing desperately, hungrily. The side of her nose brushed against the dark scab that had formed over his lightsaber burn, but neither of them paid it any mind. Kylo's other arm snaked behind her back and pulled her as close as possible. Phasma clamped her arms around his back just as hard, relishing the feel of his body, his wet-hot skin under coarse armor-weave and his accelerated heartbeat.

“My quarters,” she suggested, when he broke off the kiss, and was picking her bodily up to press her against the nearest wall.

Kylo's reply was unintelligible, but he released her long enough for them to stumble out of the gym and make it back to her room without breaking anything or trying to have sex on an inconvenient surface. The few 'troopers they met along the way gave them wide berth. 

Fortunately for the continued existence of their under-layers, the latter didn't pose many obstacles to their own removal. A sinuous squirm or two got Phasma out of the last of her clothes, and Kylo's fell around him once they managed to undo the tunic-clasps on his side. 

He lifted her against the wall with a combination of strength and telekinesis, and without really having to think about it, Phasma hooked her legs around his sides lower than she normally would to avoid touching the (protected, recovering) wound in his side. Kylo was mostly holding her up with the force, in an invisible grip that felt a lot bigger than both of them. It was slightly unnerving - she could sense that the power pressed against her could turn her body to meat-paste against the hard surface without any particular trouble. And she hadn't felt overshadowed by anyone else's strength in a very long time. But she trusted Kylo and his command over this preternatural power that lived inside him. So the thin, animal edge of fear that accompanied the feeling of being in the hold of something innately dangerous only sharpened her desire. 

Phasma put her hand between them, reaching for his length, and moaned as he pushed into her, apparently so ready that she hadn't had to stroke him to full hardness. Her body tended to adjust to the possibility that penetrative sex was happening just from overly-familiar touches. And this time she'd wanted him right from the way sweat was dripping off his curls, turning them stringy and jet black against the shine of the white, overhead gym lights. She'd pushed the thought to the back of her mind when she realized it had only been two weeks since he'd emerged from the med bay, but needed no persuading when Kylo showed interest. They hadn't bothered with the lights when they burst into her room, but her sharp eyesight still (barely) made out his shape against her in the darkness. Sinuously, rhythmically, she bucked her hips against his thrusts, savoring the feel of him and the way he opened her with his shaft. Phasma knew herself to be tall, strong, and powerful, and Kylo had grown into a body that was very much like hers. And yet, when they lined up just right, he felt like completion. 

He still mostly had intuition in place of technique, and an unrestrained, animal ferocity that more or less made up for the way he shunned making conscious decisions about how to fuck. Phasma hadn't been able to teach him much because he was exquisitely sensitive about being controlled. But she also hadn't tried particularly hard. Her body responded directly to the life and fury that hummed through him. It was barely contained or containable. A ragged, pained gasp in the dark reminded her that most of the time – now, for instance – she had to think and be careful with his body. Because he wasn't. She flinched a little at the sound, at the quiet, underlying agony and desperation of it, and forced the words “please go slower,” past her teeth. Knowing that what his pride wouldn't allow him to do for himself, he'd probably be able to justify for the sake of his partner. 

Sure enough: it took one more 'please' to check his momentum, but Kylo let up a little. And then started catching his breath and slowed down considerably. Then he completely surprised her by muttering “sorry,” running a hand through her hair and sounding more self-conscious than he had in years. 

“Don't be,” Phasma reassured huskily. She wrapped an arm around his uninjured shoulder, pulled her other hand around the back of his head, and kissed him with enthusiasm as their hips met. It was still deep and hard, just … less frenzied. 

Of course, Phasma couldn't really begrudge him the reluctance, because she was using the exact, same logic in reverse. Being able to adapt to whatever pace her partner saw fit to set was normally a point of pride for her. It didn't always make for the most comfortable sex, but on an intellectual level, she was deeply uncomfortable with the idea of wanting anyone to go easy on her. Expressing a preference for anything but the toughest, most demanding option available felt like it gave others far too much power. So asking him to slow down was something she wouldn't have done of her own volition; wouldn't have done for herself. And doing it at all was a bit humiliating, but the heightened sensation almost made up for her wounded pride. 

“Would you –” Kylo panted, and then with supreme effort he managed to add, “I want you to ride me.” 

“Alright,” she agreed. “Let me down and –” she barely had time to unhook her legs and feel the ground under the balls of her feet before he was kissing her again, almost gently. She steered them against her bed and he let himself fall back on it as she climbed easily on top of him, spread her legs, and sank into his length. She flexed her inner muscles, getting a feel for the new position, and Kylo groaned under her. “Comfortable?” Phasma asked, still not sure what to make of his request. 

“Yes,” he hissed, sounding less human than ever. 

She put a hand at the base of his erection to keep him securely in place as she raised up and came back down. His great hands grabbed her, in turn, by the hipbones, but he supported her motion rather than trying to control it. She'd managed to recover considerably while they were against the wall, so she raised herself almost entirely off him and took him in deep with each stroke. Kylo wasn't exactly coherent, but he sounded pleased with this, so she continued, letting her muscles pull him into her as they got the hang of the motion. 

Her insides were feeling hotter and more swollen with every thrust, as if her body was aiming to just grab on and keep him, right there, buried to the hilt in her. He came as she flexed around him, in long shudders timed to her fullest contact. Phasma rode out his orgasm, moving more subtly and shifting the hand that had been around his cock down lower, to stroke his balls in a way that prolonged it. 

Kylo swore under his breath, sounding awed and sort of … emotional, and pulled her down to him to kiss. Phasma let him. She thought she'd probably never been kissed so much in her entire life, but it didn't matter. She grabbed the extra blanket that she kept folded at the foot of her bed and threw it over the both of them, knowing that when they cooled down the room could feel uncomfortably cold. She also surmised that Kylo must have recently been through something that had unsettled him, because instead of staggering off to borrow her bathroom, and then retrieving his clothes and setting off at once, he stayed and snuggled. Phasma had held other people because they needed it often enough, but she hadn't been held like this in decades. She didn't question it. She just held him right back. 

Afterward, once they'd both recovered enough to pull their clothes back on and turn on a light, Kylo said “can I ask you something?”

Phasma raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“What would you do if you … might be in love with someone on the opposite side?”

“A rebel,” Phasma said, just to make sure she understood what he was saying. Kylo nodded. She thought about it. It was a moot point for her, personally, because she didn't love anyone, and never had. Which was part of what made training stormtroopers a viable option for her – no matter how much she liked a given individual, and no matter how many didn't come back, she always moved on. But she knew none of this would address why Kylo was really asking. She finally said, “would you trust me not to kill them if you tell me who it is?”

Kylo met her eyes, and a second later she could feel him scanning her mind. It hurt, although not unbearably. A silence elapsed as he considered his options. Finally, he projected a mental image at Phasma that she recognized as the scavenger who'd stolen the droid. 

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth and scraped her teeth over it slowly, thinking. “Best option, I'd try to turn her. Still acceptable, I'd try to persuade her to leave the rebellion. What I wouldn't do, under any circumstances, is try to join her. There are less horrific ways to die than being executed by your enemies.”

Kylo said nothing.

Phasma thought he seemed unconvinced, so she kept talking. “In the long run, either the rebels will lose – and the First Order will lethally settle accounts with defectors – or the unthinkable happens, and they win. Then what? All survivors would be stuck with a squabbling, corrupt mass of liars and thieves who alternate with each other for control of the government. So the question is, 'after having portrayed you as a war criminal and a mass murderer, would they let you live?' and, 'given the consequences of a rebel victory, would you even want to?' Unlike the rank-and-file, we commanders are responsible for contesting the Republic's legitimacy. Surrender isn't a choice for us.” 

Kylo raked a hand through his hair. “You're not telling me anything I didn't already know,” he admitted, “but it's still hard to hear.”

Phasma let out a short, but not unsympathetic _whuff_ of air. It was as close as she ever got to laughing about anything that was too serious to actually laugh about. “Sorry I don't have better news,” she said, and absolutely meant it. “But if you love her, get her away from those guys.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was surprised that my fill become this plotty and clocked in at five pages on LibreOffice. It also managed to have a bunch of peripheral ideas that informed how the characters were acting but didn't make it into the story:
> 
> Kylo wanted to try out a more submissive-coded sex position because he was still thinking about Rey, and what might mesh well with her. And neither Phasma nor Kylo considered that jealousy might be a reasonable reaction for her to have, to Kylo telling her he was in love with someone else, because she just doesn't work like that. 
> 
> I hope I didn't leave out anything too important, but the fic seemed to tie together without actually saying these things.
> 
> Incidentally, I had a blast rocking the aromantic badass angle with Phasma. And overall, writing how comfortable she is with herself and Kylo. 
> 
> The other part where the irony was amusing me immensely was when she advised him about what to do in relation to Rey. Well intentioned, true believers who are also _terrible people_ are among my favorite characters to write.


End file.
